


Can't Trust That Day

by Lono



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/pseuds/Lono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, she would regret her utter inability to turn down a dare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Trust That Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on Tumblr, in response to an AU Prompt, "Knocking on the wrong door".
> 
> Title is from "Monday, Monday" by The Mamas and The Papas.

“I don’t know how else to say that it’s ridiculous, Meena. I’m not going to do it.”

“Oh-ho!” crowed Meena Nichols. “Who’s backing out now?”

WIth a baleful glare, Molly Hooper held her ground. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ve earned the right to turn down a dare in my wizened age.”

Meena snorted. “Wizened… maybe about where you can find the best twenty-four hour curry place.”

Ignoring her friend, Molly continued walking, not looking to see if Meena was following or not. Windows glowed warmly onto the street and, for the most part, the people in the quiet neighborhood were shut in for the night. Molly and Meena were the exceptions to the rule.

They’d just finished an evening at a nearby pub but were not ready to turn in. Chatting and giggling, the two women had circled the same block three times, unconscious of the late hour or the parky air.

When Meena had abruptly come to stop mid-sentence, Molly had worried something was wrong. It was only when she saw the other woman’s manic grin that she’d started backing away. She’d known Meena for six years. Nothing good could come of that smile.

“You still owe me the fulfillment of a dare,” Meena had sing-songed apropos of nothing, her eyes already scanning the streets for an appropriate punishment.

Uneasily, Molly had looked around for an easy escape. “You agreed to calling it quits on the Dares that night. Something about you being too drunk to feel your bits,” she reminded her friend, silently wondering if she should just toe off her boots and run.

But Meena was not to be swayed. “Ah,” she’d sighed with a beatific smile, “Memories.”

“And that’s another thing.” Molly had jumped on the nostalgia excuse. “That was _five_ years ago. The statute of limitations has reached its deadline and then some. I think I hear my goldfish calling me, so I’d best be on my way.”

“Molly Hooper, if you renege on this dare, I will make your life a living hell.”

Arching a brow, Molly turned back. “As opposed to now?”

Anyone else might have been insulted, even with Molly’s soft delivery, but Meena had merely grinned her Cheshire smile and said, “You are going to go up,” she pointed vaguely to the nearest row of houses, “ring a buzzer for five seconds, and then run away.”

This had given Molly pause. “That’s it?” Not too bad, if it would finally pay off her ‘debt’ to her friend.

“Well, there is one more detail.”

Molly’s shoulder’s had slumped. Oh. Dear.

“You’re only going to be clad in your bra and knickers while you do it.”

“No.” Molly hadn’t realized she had such stores of vehemence, but there they were.

Which led them to where they were now. Still arguing on the pavement, not having moved at all. Molly had unconsciously started buttoning every button, snap, and fastener on her clothes, as if Meena might reach forward and start divesting her of them without consent.  She had few personal boundaries, after all.

“It’s stupid and too risky. I could get an ASBO and lose my license.”

Meena only made clucking noises at this, before she started circling the smaller woman whispering, “Cowardy cowardy custard. Cowardy cowardy custard.” And then she threw in a few more clucks for good measure.

Unfortunately for Molly Hooper, her only weakness in life was being called a chicken. She’d never been reckless and would never put anyone in danger of harm or trauma, but a select few uni friends had quickly learned that calling her bravery into question could guarantee even the most outlandish of dares being accepted.

Such as stripping down to one’s underwear on a public street and playing Knock Door Run with the unsuspecting locals.

Growling low in her throat, Molly found a nearby skip and ducked behind the end sheltered by the side of a house. Meena skipped along behind her, offering helpful advice. “Don’t freeze your tits off. Hope you’re wearing a padded bra, because it’s chilly! If a lecherous old man answers, tell him you’ve come to show him the secret pleasures of the flesh.”

Fuming, Molly thrust an armful of clothes and shoes into Meena’s arms. “Stay here. Do not do anything with my clothes. And when I get back, we are square. Never again.”

Snickering, Meena made a Scout’s Honor sign with her free hand and then pretended to wipe away a tear. “Go. Make me proud, Young Hooper!”

Clenching her fists in a fit of nerves (not to mention vehement, silent promises to exact revenge on Meena some day) and wishing she’d thought to keep her socks on in light of the cold pavement, Molly skirted back around to main street, keeping herself nearly flattened to the shadowy sidings. The terraced houses on this particular street were mostly single-family units; however, a few had been converted into multi-dwelling. Such was the case for the second house in.

Going on the logic that she’d be less likely to encounter any impressionable youths or hormonal teenage boys—not that she intended to meet _anyone_ —in the flats, Molly sucked in a breath, snapped the elastic band of her knickers to make sure they hadn’t ridden up (making for an uncomfortable getaway), and stepped up to inspect the series of four buzzers.

She scanned the names on the faceplate. Caution told her to choose someone on an upper floor: longer time to reach the front door. From there, she picked the surname that sounded like it belonged to a kindly old woman.

Nodding once with finality, Molly reached up and depressed the buzzer, counting to five as were the terms of the dare.  The second she hit that number, however, she flung herself away from the stoop, intending to dart away as fast as her legs could carry her.

Unfortunately, just as she turned to bolt, she heard the sickening death knell of a door opening behind her.

She dug her feet into the ground and tried to sprint away, but it was no good.

A hand closed around her wrist and pulled her to a stop. Molly wasn’t sure she didn’t resemble a cartoon character running in place with a cloud dust kicked up by her spinning feet.

“What are you doing?” demanded a deep voice.

“Let go of me,” Molly demanded.

“Not until I’m sure you’re not creating a diversion while your friend robs me and my neighbors.”

Scoffing, Molly quit struggling just a little. She turned to face a strikingly good-looking man who held her in place. “You’ve never heard of ‘Knock Door Run’ before?”

“Yes, in nursery school,” he sneered.

“Well, surprise. Some of us are still toddlers at heart. Now let go before I knee you in the bollocks.”

“Not so fast.” His pale eyes flashed in the nearby streetlamp. “I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

Molly sighed, but kept tugging against his hand. “Honestly, you think this is the mark of a skilled robbery attempt?”

“I never said anything about ‘skilled’. Ham-fisted, more like. But your ineptitude doesn’t mean I’ll just let you go scot-free.”

Making a frustrated sound, Molly renewed her efforts. For such a thin thing, he certainly was strong. Her instincts told her that he wouldn’t harm her, other than her dignity. But she also wasn’t going to surrender.  “I don’t know what to say to convince you that I was just doing a dare and nothing else.”

When he didn’t reply, she looked back up at his face. “Well?”

Instead of releasing her and having a laugh over her folly, the man reeled her back in closer to him, tugging with enough force that she stumbled forward and bumped into him. She couldn’t help but notice that he smelled rather delicious.

Looking down at her impassively, he laid two fingers on the wrist still clutched in his other hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Sod off.”

“What. Is. Your. Name?”

“I’m not telling.”

He sighed and glanced at a watch on his own wrist. “One of us is a tad underdressed. It’d be a shame for the headlines tomorrow to read about a home invader getting hypothermia before she could even invade said home.”

“For the last time, I’m not a home invader.”

He smirked. “Well, it certainly beats ‘Idiot Streaks Through Southwark Neighborhood, Gets Caught and Arrested Within Thirty Seconds.’”

“Fine!” she spat. “I’m Molly.”

“Full name?”

She shook her head. “I’m not a moron.”

He waved that away. “I’ll figure it out later. Why are you here?”

“I _told_ you. My friend dared me to ring your buzzer, so I did.”

“Why my buzzer?” he demanded.

She groaned. “Not yours specifically. I just had to pick one. I thought you’d be someone’s granny, already tucked into bed with your knitting.”

That gave the man pause. “Why would you think that?”

Uncomfortable, Molly shifted on her feet, already a bit numb from the cold. “I don’t know. Your name fit.”

“ _Sherlock?_ ” he asked. “Never heard of anyone’s granny with that name.”

“God, no. Your plate just shows your first initial and last name. I thought it’d be S for Sadie or something.”

Wide eyed, he stared at her. “You’re terrible at this,” he said, sounding genuinely remorseful for her failure.

“Oh, well, _Sherlock,”_ she said acidly, “there go my dreams of making a career out of it.”

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed. “A career out of home invasion, you say?!”

“No. I was being sarcastic. I meant ringing and dashing.” She sighed, her teeth starting to chatter. “Can I at least have a blanket or coat while you interrogate me?”

Eyes narrowed, Sherlock glared at her for several beats, as if she might be a ticking bomb. Finally, though, he nodded minutely and shrugged off his impressive, long coat. He refused to relinquish her hand while she tugged the fine, heavy wool over her shoulders, only trading one wrist for the other when she’d successfully cleared the first sleeve.

While she finished donning the coat and frowning at the fact that it nearly brushed the ground on her, Sherlock took up his line of questioning again, fingers once again at her pulse.

“Have you ever robbed a person before?”

“No!” Molly exclaimed, offended. And then she thought for a moment. “Well, I did steal a piece of peppermint taffy from a sweet shop when I six, but my dad found out and made me send 50p and an apology to the shopkeep—“

“I’ve changed my mind,” Sherlock interrupted. “I don’t want to know. Obviously, you’d be a wretched criminal. Are you inebriated?”

She shook her head, feeling absurdly hurt by his assessment of her future as a criminal mastermind.

“Then why are you playing children’s pranks on a weeknight?”

“Again: I was dared.”  Molly had to admit, it didn’t lend credence to any arguments that she was actually an adult, but he was looking for honesty.

“And if your friend dared you to jump off of a building, would you do that, too?” he demanded.

“Well, _Dad_ , I do have some common sense. And friends who don’t have a death wish for me. Speaking of which, where the hell is Meena?”

“Hmm? Oh, the friend who told you to run naked down the street?”—(“Not _naked,”_ muttered Molly)—“One of my homeless informants has her cornered. Making sure she doesn’t sneak in through the garden.”

“Wha—she must be terrified!” Molly stuttered.

Sherlock shrugged. “She’ll be fine.”

Apparently, Meena was more than fine, for in the next second, she came wheeling around the corner, shrieking a battle cry and wielding a long plank of wood.

Sherlock growled as Molly tried to warn her off. Before she did any damage, Meena skidded to a halt, looking between Molly and Sherlock.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Mr. Holmes here thought we were breaking and entering. I guess I was the diversion while you were the grease woman.”

“I watched you from my window,” Sherlock confirmed. “You circled the block three times and then stood outside of my building before hiding behind that skip. And then a naked lady”—(“NOT NAKED!” Molly insisted more loudly)—“came slithering up in the shadows and rang my buzzer. What would you have thought?”

Meena considered him for a moment before nodding .“Yeah, you do have a point.”

“Your friend is mule-headed and wasn’t quick to see this.”

Meena nodded. “It’s one of my favorite things about her, really,” she agreed, patting Molly on the head with solicitous affection.

“Hey!” Molly exclaimed. She didn’t notice she’d started to shiver until Sherlock stepped in a bit closer to her, blocking some of the wind whistling down the street.

“Did you hit Gerard?” he asked Meena.

“No. You asked an eighty-year-old to waylay me. I just dodged him with misdirection.”

Frowning, Sherlock muttered something about the difficulty in finding good help these days.

“Are we free to go?” Molly asked. “I’m very sorry I frightened you—“

“Frighten? You didn’t frighten me.” He laughed at the mere idea.

“Fine. Sorry I made you leave your cozy flat to accost harmless pranksters. May we go now?”

He frowned deeply at her for another moment. “Fine. Give me back my coat. You’re lucky it’s not below freezing. It’s supposed to get that way tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Molly mumbled, shrugging out of the coat. “Thanks for the cover-up.”

Sherlock nodded regally as he pulled the garment back on. But then his eyes, darkening in the night air, scanned her figure, and she shivered again. A small smirk quirked his lips and she hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms over her breasts.

 And then just as quickly, he frowned, bending down and invading her personal space unapologetically, his gaze narrowed on her knickers.

Black fabric. Cheerful, white skulls. A hot pink, cursive word weaving its way several times around the crania.

“It’s not Monday,” he criticized.

“And on that note, I am leaving.” Molly announced, marching back to the skip to collect her clothes with as much dignity as she could muster.

Somehow, she’d just _known_ she’d regret wearing the wrong day’s print.

* * *

Molly managed not to think about the mortifying events of the previous week more than a handful or fifty times. She dragged herself into work at her scheduled times, and attended to her rotation with the same dedication as ever.

It was only when she found her way to the morgue for her last shift of a six-day stretch that it all came screeching to a halt.

She trotted in through doors, calling out a cheerful hello to her boss. Before she could move to the office area, however, Mike hailed her, bidding her to come up to the lab with him.

“Friend of mine is here,” he explained as they moved up the stairs. “You need to meet, because you’ll likely see a lot of him around here. He’s been given special dispensation to access the lab and its supplies, as well as consult on some bodies that come into the morgue.”

“Is he police?” Molly asked.

“No. Calls himself a consulting detective. He’s brilliant. I actually think you’ll like him, but I should warn you that he can be a handful when he’s in a mood.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she offered diplomatically.

Mike chuckled. “Give it time.” Pushing the door open, he ushered her into the comforting atmosphere of the Barts lab.

At first, she didn’t recognize the stranger at the microscope.  It was only when Mike called out jovially to him that she wondered if screaming and fleeing would be _too_ extreme.

“Sherlock! I’ve someone to introduce to you. Sherlock Holmes, meet Doctor Molly Hooper, one of my brightest students. She’ll probably have my job someday soon.”

Molly hoped she managed to smile at Mike, but her gaze was locked on Sherlock’s. But he only stared back at her coolly, face betraying no recognition.

“Pleasure,” he said, though it sounded more like, “Perfunctory” to Molly’s ears.

She gawked, silently quelling a tiny flicker of hope. Was he not going to say anything of their last meeting? If he didn’t, he could have anything he wanted from this lab or the morgue. She’d make sure of it.

Sherlock cocked a brow at her, and she shook herself out of her stupor.  “Hello,” she trilled, trying to smile and appear relaxed.

He nodded. Returning his gaze to his microscope, he addressed the other doctor. “Stamford, do you have any aluminium chloride?”

Mike frowned, eyes scanning the shelves behind Sherlock’s head. “You know, I believe we do, but I’ll have to run to fetch it from the storage cupboard.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock said, his tone absent.

As soon as the door swung shut behind Mike, Molly stared at Sherlock, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When he only continued to twiddle the knobs on the microscope, Molly decided to make a clean break.  Mumbling a farewell, she turned and walked as calmly as possible back towards the staircase entry.

And then she heard it. At first, it was too faint to discern, but unfortunately, subtlety was short-lived, and his volume increased. Though she immediately moved into a bit of a jog to escape her new, fresh hell, Molly heard more than enough of what Sherlock Holmes was humming cheerfully as he continued to ignore her.  

“Monday, Monday” by the Mamas and the Papas.  That _tosser_.


End file.
